TOW I'm not who I used to be
by justanotherfic
Summary: Chandler and Monica find themselves at a dead end. What happens when you find that you're not who you used to be? Can you love someone you can't stand? Please R&R! New Chapter!
1. I'm not who I used to be

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, the merethought is ridiculous. Song: "Brothers on a Hotel Bed" by Death Cab for Cutie.

Enjoy, and please review, it really makes my day :)

Monica is standing by the bathroom mirror, making sure that her hair looks the way it is supposed to. I swallow hard as she checks on her make-up, and puts on a tiny bit more lipstick. She smiles at her own reflection, obviously satisfied with the result. She is wearing a stunning black dress that would, at some point in our relationship, have taken my breath away; still I admit to myself that she does looks perfect. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Sexy. The thought doesn't do anything for me. I clear my throat and try to squeeze past her. We both flinch as my arm rubs against her back, and I mumble a quiet excuse. My eyes meet hers in the mirror and we both hurry to look away. I grab the magazine I have come looking for and make my way out the door again. I notice the fact that Monica moves closer to the wash basin, to avoid any contact. I imagine that I feel hurt by that fact, but I can't kid myself forever. The fact that she doesn't want to be touched by me doesn't bother me. It is the fact that I don't care that is scary. I hear Monica start humming as I leave the bathroom, and I flip down into the armchair with my magazine and give a sigh. Monica is going out tonight. With whom, I don't know. Someone from work? An old friend from school? A guy she has just met at the coffee house? A lover? I really don't know. I haven't asked. I stick with the idea that it might be an old friend or a work mate, because that way, at least I'll be able to sleep tonight. I hear her leave the bathroom and the scent of her perfume hits me like a slap in the face as she walks to our bedroom. It is not the one I gave her for her birthday. In fact, this one has to be brand new. For the first time in weeks, I feel slightly hurt. A woman doesn't buy herself perfume that much I know about women. She emerges from the bedroom with her purse; holding her coat in her other hand. I look up at her. She looks as beautiful as she ever did; but again, the thought does nothing for me. She is wearing a necklace that I can't remember giving her; something from before _us_? At least I have seen it before. It is a poor comfort. I try to get a glimpse of her hands, because I know that the day she removes her wedding ring will be the day that this ends. My family; my life; my universe. I am slightly disappointed to see that she has already put on her gloves. I don't like not knowing.

"Bye." She says shortly, as she opens the door. We have long since stopped playing the loving spouse-game, and I know that I'm not even required to answer. It won't matter if I do, just as it won't matter if I don't. The door closes behind her with a soft thud, and as I inhale deeply all I can smell is the unfamiliar scent of her new perfume. I get up to open the window to the balcony. Just out of curiosity I step out, and I look over the edge. I see Monica get into a cab. At least she is discrete enough not to meet her date underneath our balcony. My gaze finds its way to Ross's window. He's sitting on the couch with Rachel, and I can see that they are laughing. I quickly get back inside. No matter how happy I am for them getting back together, seeing them together, especially with Emma, breaks my heart. They have what Monica and I don't have. Can't have. Because, simply, Monica and I can't have children. I grab a beer from the fridge and turn the TV on. I quickly turn it off again. All they ever show is mushy films about happy-ever-after love, and I can't stand it. There is no such thing. No matter how much I wanted there to be. Life is a hard place, and love is a temporary way to make things seem lighter. Love is never constant.

I spend a few hours flipping through magazines and a few books. I have more beers; watch some TV, and try to get some work done. I want to keep my mind off Monica. The thought that has been going through my head all evening resurfaces: when did it get this bad? When did it get to the point where my wife can dress up in one of her most sexy dresses, wear perfume I haven't given her together with jewelry she hasn't worn since we got together because she got it from an old boyfriend, and then go on a date, with me just giving my silent support? It started after we found out that we couldn't have children. She just didn't seem to want to touch me. Just didn't want to be touched anymore. I don't know when I kissed her last. It scares me to realize that I can't remember the taste of her lips. My heart breaks as the forbidden thoughts penetrate the carefully erected walls in my head. Is there another man who knows my wife's lips and body better than me now? I push those thoughts away hurriedly as the walls seem to close in on me. Panic rises in my throat, and it takes several minutes of calm breathing to get my heart and head back under control. The irony in it all does not pass me by unnoticed. Chandler Bing, former commitment-freak with the largest relationship-phobia in history, has to fight hard not to panic at the prospect of being alone. At that I feel pathetic. As I have some more beer, I feel more betrayed than pathetic. Monica taught me to trust. I thought that of all people she would be the last one to hurt me, because when I looked into her eyes, it was like looking into my own, no matter how cheesy that sounds. I was naïve enough to think that our love was strong enough to live through anything. I laugh bitterly at the fact that it was the biggest lie of my life. So, we changed. We aren't the same people any longer. Maybe we just changed a little too much? Were we better off when we were still unsure of our roles in our relationship? I know that the answer is that we were fine, good, great, until nature brutally told us that we didn't match. Who can argue with nature?

-----------------

_You may tire of me  
__As our December sun is setting  
__'Cause I'm not who I used to be_

-----------------

01.15. The red numbers stick in my eyes, and I turn around, facing Monica's side of the bed. I find it empty. Once again. I tell myself that it's not _that_ late, it could have been worse. I look at her pillow and suddenly my feelings overwhelm me. I may be confused when it comes to my feelings for Monica right now, but I haven't forgotten the way things used to be. I can see her dark hair spread around her head on that pillow. I know how soft it is, because I used to play with it. I can remember the twinkle in her eyes; the light from her bedside table lamp reflecting in their glazy surface. The smile on her face as I tell her that I love her; that I will stay for ever and ever, and that if I could, I would hold her in my arms until the end of time. It has been such a long time since she told me something like that. Sometimes I wonder if that is what she needs to hear. But how can I tell her that, when I know what she is doing to me? How on earth can I still feel love for her like if there is no tomorrow, every night, and still let her hurt me every day. I turn on my lamp and when I turn back to look at the empty half next to me, something on Monica's bedside table catches my eye. There it is. This is the moment I have been dreading for months. Tucked underneath a magazine is Monica's wedding band. I reach out with my trembling fingers and pick it up. I try to make up excuses for why she would have left it there, but I know that there are none. My wedding ring is still on my finger. It doesn't even go off when I take a bath. I would feel like I betrayed Monica if I ever took it off. She took it off. I close my hand around it, and I remember a conversation with Monica, years ago. She thought that I wouldn't cry, even if she died, but when we sat down to properly talk about it, I couldn't even say the word before collapsing into tears. This is the same thing. As I look at the ring in my hand, the ring that was perfect, I realize that this is it. This is the end. The walls come crashing in, and nothing can stop my tears.

The water is cold against my face, but still I keep splashing it on. I meet my own gaze in the mirror, but if I hadn't know how a mirror worked I couldn't have said that it was me. I am pale, but I know that has something to do with spending an hour on the bathroom floor throwing up. I don't know my eyes any longer. They are hard. Much more gray than they have ever been before in my life. They scare me. When I look into them I see death. I also see wrinkles where there have never been wrinkles before. I am not that old, am I? I'm not even forty. I decide that I look tired. And I am tired. Hurt and tired. I dry my face with a towel that smells of Monica. The thought makes me nauseous, and I sit down heavily on the edge of the bathtub. I thought that Monica and I were meant to be. It seemed like such a great combination. Best friends and lovers. I honestly didn't think that it would ever end. I damn my slow "swimmers" and her inhospitable uterus. Would this have happened if we had had a family by now? Surely a baby would have kept us together, right? Still, I don't know that.

-------------------

_'Cause I'm not who I used to be  
__No longer easy on the eyes  
These wrinkles masterfully disguise  
The youthful boy below  
__Who turned your way and saw  
Something he was not looking for,  
__Both a beginning and an end  
But now he lives inside  
__Someone he does not recognize  
__When he catches his reflection on accident_

--------------------

The sound of the door opening wakes me up at five thirty. I hear Monica throw her stilettos on the floor, not even bothering to keep the noise down. I swallow hard to get rid of the lump in my throat, but it doesn't help. I still have her ring in my hand. I am not sure why. I want her to put it back on; but at the same time I want her to know that I know she took it off, and that it almost killed me. I hear her steps coming towards the bedroom, and the door opens to let her in. She undresses in silence, and then sits down on the bed. She pulls her pyjamas from underneath the pillow and I try to keep still. The bed shifts as she crawls under the covers. She fluffs up her pillows, and then I hear her lift the magazine, to retrieve her ring. Has she done this before? I draw a deep breath as quietly as I can, and I inhale her scent. The perfume and the smell of sex and alcohol make me nauseous again, and I squeeze the ring tighter in my hand. She gets off the bed again and I open my eyes long enough to see that she kneels down on the floor.

"Are you looking for this?" I ask her with contempt, and hold up her ring. She scrambles back onto the bed and grabs it from my hand. I sit up and look at her as she puts it back on. "Is there a point in doing that?" I ask angrily and grab her hand to pull it off again. To my big surprise she pulls her hand towards her chest and covers it with her other hand.

"It's still mine…" She tells me, her voice quiet. "Look, Chandler, I didn't mean for you to know." She looks truly upset, and I can't for my life figure out why. She has obviously been cheating on me with someone else, but she can't show me that she takes off her wedding ring?

"I don't want you to wear it." I tell her, even though I don't really mean it. Then I ask the question I should have asked a long time ago. "Where have you been?" She reaches out to turn on her table lamp, and she looks at me. I can see that she too has to concentrate to recognize me; just as I can't really see my wife in the woman next to me.

"You really don't want to know." She chuckles darkly, and leans hard against the headboard. Her breath smells of alcohol. Scotch. On the rocks, with a twist. How much has she been drinking? "Knowing you, you already have it figured out anyway, Chandler. You're not stupid, and I haven't exactly been hiding it." I swallow hard, and I wish that this nightmare will end soon. I want my Monica back. My marriage. My life. Everything that was perfect just a few months ago.

"So, you're seeing someone else?" I choke out the words, and Monica seems truly surprised at the hurt expression on my face. I am aware of the fact that there are tears running down my face now, and as I look at Monica I can see that she is shocked. "Who is it?" I whisper, and for a few seconds I am not even sure that she heard me. I pray that she won't tell me, because I have a pretty good idea, and I know that I don't want it confirmed. But she dives straight in.

"It's Richard." She tells me and suddenly I can't breathe. I fight to get the covers off of my legs and I storm out into the living room. The walls in there seem less close, but everywhere I turn I keep seeing Richard. The thought makes me sick, but my mind is barely coherent enough to register it. Monica enters from the bedroom and at another time I would have killed for the look that she gives me. She is worried. She practically radiates regret and concern; but I know that she must think that I have gone crazy considering the way I keep spinning around in our living room. I collapse against the back of the couch, crying uncontrollably. I can feel my heart beat in my chest, it is painful, but I am truly surprised that it is there; in one piece. I wish I could reach through my rib cage, take it out and throw it away. It hurts too much. I can't bear it. As I calm down a little; seconds, minutes, hours later, I become aware of the fact that Monica is crying too. At first the thought brings a little comfort to my aching heart; but I know that seeing Monica sad will always hurt me more than anything. Even when she deserves being sad. She is sitting by the window. Her hair is wet, and a towel is thrown haphazardly on the floor below her. I realize that I must have been gone for quite some time. It is getting light outside, the street lights have been turned off. Monica has apparently had time to shower, or take a bath. I look at my watch. Six fifty. More than an hour. I wonder how many hours we have left as husband and wife. As so many other statements, this one, that I have always dreaded the most, does nothing for me.

I get up to make myself some coffee. I don't make her a cup, I know she might need one, but I don't want to think about her anymore. She doesn't move from the window until I have almost finished my cup. She sits down on the chair opposite of mine, leaving a trail of scent that I will always connect to Monica. It's her shower crème. I try not to breathe, but I can't go for very long. I inhale sharply and she looks up at me.

"I am so sorry." She tells me, and I look at her weirdly. Those words seem so insufficient. There is no way they can cover for what she did. Richard. Couldn't it have been anyone but Richard? Does she really want to see me dead?

"It's not enough." I tell her, and play with the coffee mug. Her tears are gone, just as mine are. "What do you expect me to make out of this? You pick me over him, saying that you love me; but then when it turns out we can't have children, you go running back to him." She doesn't answer, and she fidgets around on her chair. "Do you love him?" Her head snaps up to meet my gaze, but I see her hesitating, and it is all I need to know. "Fine." I declare, so much calmer than I thought was possible in this situation. "I'll have our lawyer send the divorce documents." This time it is Monica who breaks into hysterical tears; but I am not sure over what. She is the one who cheated on me. She is the one who broke us apart. I head for the bathroom to shower; knowing that this will have to be my absolute last day in this apartment. I need to break free. I need to be alone. Away from Monica. Away from our friends. Away from New York. Monica is gone when I exit the bathroom a good forty-five minutes later. I throw some of my clothes into a sports bag, and put whatever documents I have brought with me from work on top. I make sure to bring a suit, even though I doubt I'll be going to work for a while. I meet Joey on the stairs as I flee our apartment building. He calls my name, but I grab a cab, I tell the driver to go to my office and I never look back. My heart yearns a little for Monica. I wonder fleetingly if she went back to Richard's place, but frankly I don't care. I call our phone, just to tell her that if there is anything she can reach me through our lawyer. I can't tell her where I am going. I honestly don't know. I just know I need to get away.

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_On the back of a motor bike  
With your arms outstretched trying to take flight  
Leaving everything behind  
But even at our swiftest speed  
__We couldn't break from the concrete  
__In the city where we still reside  
__And I have learned that even landlocked lovers yearn  
__For the sea like navy men  
__'Cause now we say goodnight from our own separate sides  
__Like brothers on a hotel bed_

-------------------

I correct my blue shirt slightly as I press the button on the intercom, waiting for my former brother-in-law to let me in. I have agreed to come to Emma's third birthday party, even though I know that Monica will be there. I haven't seen her for six months. Not since the day I came to pick up the rest of my stuff from her apartment. Our divorce is final now. That fact doesn't make me feel better. I dream about her. Sometimes the dreams have a pure sexual content, and as much as I don't mind those dreams, they can make me a little sick. Then there is the other kind; where she's just there – playing the role of my wife. Touching me, kissing me. I shake the thoughts of Monica out of my head as Ross buzzes me up. I move Emma's present nervously from hand to hand as I stand outside Ross' door, waiting to be let in. Monica is the first thing that catches my eyes as the door opens, but I focus all my energy on the bouncy toddler at my feet. I give her the present. It's a brown-haired baby doll, and even though it was the prettiest doll in the store, it freaks me out a little. It has got my eyes. Same color, same lack of depth and sense of life. Emma bounces off to her aunty Monica to show her the new addition to the Geller-Green household and I watch Ross' mouth as he tells me something. Time seems to run painfully slow. Monica keeps to one side of the living room and I to the other. I know that we hurt our friends by behaving like this, and I am truly sorry for that. I don't meet her gaze until after we have had the cake, a good hour into my visit. She looks different, and not in a good way. Emma is in her lap, licking her fingers clean of cake. I try to decide if Monica is happy. Her eyes are hollow, empty almost and I know just how she feels. I excuse myself to Ross and Joey and flip down on the couch next to Monica. She looks frightened, and she shifts Emma around in her lap. Phoebe, seated on the other side of Monica quickly grabs Emma and pulls her into a newly invented game á la Phoebe Buffay. Monica looks uncomfortable.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" I ask her quietly. She looks at her hands and I try to decide if she hesitates because she doesn't want anything to do with me or because she feels guilty for doing this to us. Then, finally, she nods and I smile weakly.

"Just give me a minute." She says. Her voice is weak, and her eyes sad when they meet mine for confirmation. "I need to wash off my hands." My eyes involuntarily find her hands that are resting in her lap. God, I used to love those hands. I _love_ those hands, present tense. I snap my head up to meet her eyes and I smile. A natural smile, not forced in any way, because I am smiling at the only one who has ever seen that smile directed at her before. The woman whose hands I love more than any hands in the world. The woman whose smile now graces me, and I bask in it as if it was the warm summer sun. I become aware of Phoebe looking at us, but I really don't mind.

"I'll talk to Ross and get our coats." I tell her as she too notices Phoebe's inquiring look and hurries to stand up. As she disappears off to the bathroom, I look at Phoebe, who is still studying me. Her face breaks into a knowing smile, and in the absence of me or Monica in her arms she squeezes Emma into a hug. I feel like laughing out loud, jumping up and down with happiness, but all I do is smiling an utterly corny smile that makes Phoebe chuckle.

"You know, she's been really down these last months." Phoebe tells me, still smiling. "And so have you, if I may say so." All I can do is smile. "If you give it enough time, Chandler, you'll be able to work it out." The happiness escapes my lips and I give off a laughing noise. Emma smiles at me as if I am slightly out of my mind. Not exactly high praise from a three year old.

"I know!" I say, in perfect Monica imitation, and I see the woman of my thoughts return from the bathroom. "Thank you Phoebe." I whisper as Monica approaches the couch and I show her to the door. As I hold it open I hear Phoebe whisper happily to her niece:

"I knew they were lobsters!" I smile happily, breaking into laughter as Emma proudly pronounces the new word she has just learnt:

"Lobstes, lobstes!"


	2. Falling

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Song by Sufjan Stevens (For the Widows in Paradise, for the Fatherless in Ypsilanti)

I stop dead in my tracks just outside the bedroom door. Chandler is by the couch; he looks like he is seeing things that aren't there, and he scares me. He meets my gaze for a few seconds, makes a slight grimace and collapses on the floor. My first instinct is to run up to him and check that he is okay, but I have no idea how he would react to that, so I just look at him. I have never seen him cry this much before. I have never seen anyone cry like this. Never because of me. I look at him for what seems like an eternity. He is curled up in a fetal position on the floor, and every sob that escapes his mouth stabs at my heart until I am sure I have to be dead. I can feel the alcohol on my own breath; I feel disgusting, knowing that I probably still smell of cigar smoke, sweat and sex. I am overwhelmed with despise for myself. What on earth am I doing? With Richard? To Chandler? The thought of my betrayal makes my stomach turn and I feel threateningly close to throwing up.

As I enter the bathroom I throw one last glance at Chandler who is still on the floor. I rip my dress off, literally tearing it; and I don't care that it cost me $300 on a sale. I feel like a whore wearing it. I feel dirty. Disgusting. And I know that I should. I step under the shower, and let the too hot water burn my skin. I want to get rid of Richard's hands on my body. I want to get rid of who I have become. I wish that the person who is making my husband suffer will die. I know it's not the real me. I love Chandler. I love him more than I have ever loved anyone before. Still, I am the one who has just had sex with Richard. I know that I could never properly explain why. I can never make it undone. Neither can I ever expect Chandler to forgive me. I raise the water's temperature until I can barely stand the heat. At 140 F you get burns. I watch my skin for them, but there are none. They seem a proper punishment at the moment. I remember that Chandler once had the plumber put in a safety limit when our bathwater turned out a little too hot. I realize that the water won't get to 140 F and hence not give me blisters. I turn the heat off. Completely. As the icy water hits my head I have to bite my lip not to scream out in pain. Is this how Chandler feels? Deep down I know that he feels worse. I turn the heat back to body temperature, not really sure if I deserve the relief. I wash off my body four times before I run out of shower crème. I still don't feel clean. I know where Richard has touched me. I can never wash that away. I will always be tainted. Permanent ink marks of my infidelity to my husband. I welcome the guilt. I deserve it. When I turn the water off I can hear Chandler whimpering. I reduced the man I love to that. I deserve horribly worse things than guilt. I dress slowly. It feels good to cover my body up. I wrap my hair in a towel. The white color of it seems unfitting, but there isn't anything else, and I tell myself that everything can't be symbols. Yet, they are.

Chandler is still on the floor when I return, but he seems to have calmed down a little. He still scares me. With all that has happened between us lately, I am amazed that he still loves me enough to be completely crushed about this. To be honest, I thought that he stopped loving me long ago. Why else would he pretend like he didn't care when I would dress up and go on dates. Did I break his heart ever time? I doubt it. I wish I could have said that I did it because he broke _my_ heart. I wish there was some way, _any_ way I could have justified my actions. There isn't. It is my own doing. Chandler is, and always was, perfect. I look at him. He looks like he is sleeping now. I hope that he is alright. Of course he isn't. How can he be? I've ruined his life trying not to ruin it. I know that this all started when we found out that we couldn't have children. I had waited my whole life for a sweet, tiny baby of my own; and then I find out there's something wrong with me. Inhospitable uterus? Inhospitable! That is just a nice way of saying that I push my unborn children away even before they have split from one cell into two. What sort of mother would do that? I remember Chandler telling me that I can't help it. That it's in my genes. Beyond my control. Still, I push life away before it has even started. Chandler kept telling me that it was him too. It wasn't just me; his sperm was faulty too. Too slow. Maybe that wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't killed it. I know how much he wanted a baby and when we found out, it killed me that I couldn't give him one. I realize now that he must have felt the same way, but the thought has never occurred to me before. Tears form in my eyes as I realize the extent of what I have done. I thought that if I pushed him away, he wouldn't get hurt, and I wouldn't get hurt. If I didn't allow myself to feel anything for him how could my feelings hurt me? It was a selfish choice, one that he knew nothing about, but it made perfect sense to me then. With tears in my eyes I study Chandler. I look at the ring on my left hand. He is right. Considering what I have done, I really have no right to wear it. I believe with all my heart that there isn't anything I can do to deserve wearing it again. I take it off. The action, which I have done twice before, hurts incredibly and my tears finally come. I know that this time it is final. It will never come back on again. I get off the bench and open it to reveal my no-longer-hidden stashes. Far down is a black shoe box. It is where I keep things that remind me of Chandler. I put the ring inside, my heart aching at finding the box in which it came. I can't bear to reunite the two items, so I bury the ring deep within the sock-bunny I once gave him for Valentine's Day. The towel that is wrapped around my head falls off quietly and lands in a heap on the floor as I get back onto the window seat. I don't even feel a need to pick it up. For once my priorities seem remotely in order. I care most about the man on the floor. I wish with all of my heart that that had always been the case. I bury my head in my arms, and I let the tears come. I can't believe that I have been stupid enough to do this to our marriage. The marriage I know that he will end today. I hear him get up from the floor and walk into the kitchen. I hear the sound of running water and of one cup being put on the kitchen worktop. One. I know that is how we will be from now. I am glad that I will no longer be in a position to hurt him. I hope with all my heart that this will let him be happy again. I always knew that we would have to work hard to create our relationship. I just can't believe that I stopped working on it.

I wait for what seems to be an eternity before I have gathered enough courage to walk up to him and sit by the kitchen table. He doesn't look at me but gives a large sigh. Is that really a sigh? Was he holding his breath? My heart aches at the sight of him. I say the only thing that seems appropriate. A poor summary of what I am feeling. Hardly what he wants to hear; and incredibly insufficient, but I need to say it. I know I will be saying it for a very long time.

"I am so sorry." I don't hold any hopes that these are the magic words. I know that sorry isn't enough. Not even close to enough, and as he looks up at me, slightly confused, I know he can never accept it.

"It's not enough." He confirms, fiddling with the coffee mug. I have prepared myself for that sentence and even though I know that this is effectively the end, I can't cry. "What do you expect me to make out of this?" He asks and I honestly have no idea what to tell him. "You pick me over him, saying that you love me; but then when it turns out we can't have children, you go running back to him." I start to panic; my thoughts stumble on top of each other and I have a hard time keeping them apart. I knew deep down that this was how he would see it. But it's not like that! I didn't choose Chandler because I knew that Richard didn't want children and Chandler might. I married Chandler because I love him. Richard's confession and Chandler's weird behavior merely messed up my thoughts, but I was never actually considering going back to Richard. Yesterday, I didn't sleep with him because I felt anything for him. I slept with him because I needed the comfort. Much in the same way that I intended to sleep with Joey that night in London. I know it was a bad call. I just didn't think. "Do you love him?" My head snaps up as his voice breaks through my thoughts. I have a hard time making sense of what he said, because the mere thought is obscene. Before I have time to say anything, his soft and calm voice declares, "Fine." And my world starts to slowly shatter. I can't make a sound, even though I wish to tell him that I don't love Richard. That I know I made a mistake. I fight to get control of my thoughts again, and he almost whispers: "I'll have our lawyer send the divorce documents." At the word 'divorce' all my barriers break. I know what I have done. I knew it would lead to this eventually, considering that we haven't spoken to each other for months. I just wish I hadn't been stupid enough to let us go. As his gaze leaves me I open the gates to a dam I didn't know was there in the first place, and I cry. I stay put as he leaves the table. It isn't until he turns on the water in the shower that I am able to move. Without knowing where I am going I grab my coat and slowly walk out of the apartment.

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_I have called you children,_

_I have called you son._

_What is there to answer if I'm the only one?_

_Morning comes in Paradise,_

_Morning comes in light._

_Still I must obey,_

_Still I must invite._

---------------------

I find that, amazingly, New York is too small. There is nowhere I want to go that doesn't remind me of Chandler, or the things I have done. I stay away from the mere direction of Richard's apartment; because just taking a turn towards it makes me cry. Coffee houses and diners reminds me too much of Chandler, so I rule them all out. Before I know it, I find myself on the Long Island Expressway. I'm going to my parents'? Am I willingly subjecting myself to my mother right now? Isn't Ross, or Rachel, or Joey or Phoebe a better alternative? Do I honestly want my mother's opinions on my impending divorce? I know that the answer is no, but I honestly don't feel like I have another alternative. I am certain that my mother will let me know exactly what a failure I am, as opposed to all my friends, and even though I know it will hurt me, I need the truth. I need to hear someone tell me that I screwed up. Big time. No turning back. I don't need Ross' sweet-talking, or Rachel's hugs. I don't need Phoebe to cleanse my aura, not now, not today. Joey… I could use Joey's upset looks, the anger in his eyes, the disappointment of my betrayal; but I know very well that if there is someone who deserves the support of my four closest friends, it is my husband. So I continue on the highway. I have a hard time keeping my thoughts off Chandler. I feel like pushing the car off the road; I want an end to the guilty feelings, to the hatred I feel for myself, but I love Chandler so much that I don't want myself to get off too easy. I know that hurting or killing myself isn't an option. It doesn't do any good, and no matter how much Chandler must hate me right now, I know that he will be crushed if I were to be hurt. Just as I would be if something happened to him. Our marriage may have failed miserably, but I can't just erase the fact that I have known him for almost twenty years. No matter what our official relationship status is, he will always be special to me. I wonder what he is doing right now. Is he still in our apartment? The others will most likely be over for Sunday breakfast soon. Is this how they will find out? I am sure that they know that Chandler and I have been drifting apart. Do they know it's gone this far? Most probably not. They would have acted if they had known that we were this far gone. There is nothing that they could have done, but I know that they would have done their best get us to talk about what has happened to us. They love us so much more than our actions deserves. I know that this divorce will effectively break our little gang up. It will be a very long time until Chandler and I can be in the same room together again. We are the first ones to go. I never thought it would be us. I feel my tears return, and the fact pisses me off. I brought this on. Every tear of sadness that rolls down my cheek, seems to be mocking Chandlers' feelings. I made this happen. I should feel nothing but guilt. Yet, I am losing the things that kept my life glued together, and even though I am to blame for that, I have never been more scared in my life.

I pull off the expressway at the next gas station I can find. I park the car, but I don't get out. My eyes are red and tired. I definitely look like I have been crying. My hair is a mess, and I realize that I never brushed it. I look like hell. I deserve to. I rummage through the glove compartment in search of a hair brush and some make-up. I find one of Rachel's brushes, something that does not surprise me, together with some hopelessly unfashionable lipstick. Lipstick is the least of my worries. I realize I will have to either get out of the car without make-up, or not get out of the car at all. My phone rings before I have the time to think through my options. Flipping it open, I stare at the smiling image of my brother. I decide that I'm not ready to answer and I wait through the signals. Not six seconds after Ross hung up, my phone starts ringing again. This time when I flip it open, it says 'home'. I swallow hard to get rid of the lump that is suddenly lodged in my throat, and I know that there is no way I can talk to Chandler right now. I ignore the call, by hanging up. Ross calls me again. I wait for a few signals, before my guilt kicks in. He could be really worried. Knowing Ross, he probably is really worried, and after all no one knows where I am. Reluctantly I accept the call.

"Hello?" I whisper, even though I know that it's my brother. I hear him give a sigh of relief on the other end, and I wonder if I really have made him that worried.

"_Monica? You really had us worried, where are you? Are you okay?"_ I realize that I really don't know where I am. I have never stopped on my way out to Long Island before, it's not that far after all. I look out the window, but it doesn't really help me very much.

"I'm at a gas station." I tell him. "Off the Long Island Expressway." I really didn't want Chandler to know where I am going; not so much because I ever thought he would look for me, but because I need to be alone. I hear Ross give a nervous laugh, sounding a little relieved.

"_Why didn't you tell us that you and Chandler were going to mom and dad's for the day? When we found the apartment empty we thought something had happened to you guys."_ I almost hang up on him then. Obviously he doesn't know anything about what has happened, and I really don't feel like telling him. A thought creeps into my mind: where is Chandler? I had high hopes of Chandler being in the apartment when our friends came over for breakfast. I imagined that he would tell them, and that they would comfort him the way I can't.

"Chandler's not with me…" I find myself telling Ross. "I'm… I…" I take a deep breath, knowing that what I am about to tell my brother will probably shatter his heart. "We're getting divorced." For a long time, I only hear our breaths in the receiver. I know that my brother never expected this day to come; in all honesty, neither did I. I wonder how he will tell our friends. Are they listening right this second?

"_What?"_ He whispers after what seems a bit too long. _"Monica? No…"_ The fact that he is in denial doesn't surprise me. I know that he had planned to keep me away from divorces. I know that he doesn't want me to go through all the stuff he has gone through. _"What did he do?"_ I wince at the fact that Ross automatically assumes that Chandler is the one who's at fault. Suddenly I'm glad that I'm the one who tells them.

"Nothing." I tell him honestly. "It's me who screwed up." I ponder if I should tell him the whole truth now, after all, they are probably all there and will want to know as soon as possible. Can I really tell them I cheated on Chandler? I tell myself that I have to. "I… I slept with Richard…" Ross is completely quiet on the other end of the line. I wonder briefly if he is still there. I know he is. He just doesn't know what to say. I know that I have disappointed him. "Ross?" I ask, surprised that my admission hasn't made me cry yet.

"_Monica? How could you? How could you do that to Chandler?"_ Something inside me is glad that he is angry with me. Ross's reaction was the one I feared the most. I know that he would be the one most likely to stick by me in this mess. His reaction tells me that he might actually have some difficulty with that. _"What the hell were you thinking, Mon?"_ I bite my lip. What _was_ I thinking? I ran into Richard on my lunch break, six weeks ago. We started going out for lunch, but then he asked me out for dinner. It was great. I felt like I could tell him everything. He listened, and he was being really sweet, but I didn't want to sleep with him. God, I _do_ love Chandler, not Richard. But then yesterday, we had a few more drinks than we usually do, and he asked me to come with him to his apartment. We drowned ourselves in more scotch, and I opened up more than I had before. I literally told him everything. I remember crying, and clinging to him for support. He held me tight and when I had no tears left he bent his head down to kiss me. I didn't even think about Chandler. It's not as if he had ever asked why I was going out every other night, or with whom I went out with. He just didn't seem to care, and I really needed someone to comfort me. Someone who cared a little. Stupidly enough that someone had to be Richard.

"I don't know what I was thinking Ross." I tell him. "I was really drunk, and I know that's not an excuse, but it's the best I can give you." He doesn't answer me, but I know that he's still there. "Look, things haven't been great between Chandler and me for a really long time. I didn't even realize until this morning that he actually still loves me…" I let the meaning of that slowly sink through me. Chandler loves me and I hurt him like this. I can't believe I let this go. I swore to myself that I would always keep working on our relationship. We are worth it, because we are so good when we are together. Somehow, though, I stopped, and Chandler stopped. Damn inhospitable uterus!

"_Where is he now?"_ Ross voice is edgy, and I can tell that he is angry with me. _"Where did he say he was going?"_

"He didn't say anything. I left before him." I say, quietly, and I admit to myself that I am a bit worried as well. "Have you tried his cell phone?"

"_Some of his clothes are gone."_ My brother barks at me, and I wince. I never asked him to leave. He gives an exhausted sigh. _"I still can't believe you would do that to him!"_ He tells me again. I let my tears break through. I don't want to cry, and I know very well that I shouldn't, but I can't help it. I feel so bad for what I have done. I never wanted our marriage to end. I wanted to be with Chandler forever, but I knew I would have to work on us to get there. Why on earth did I stop working on us? I hang up on Ross and turn my cell phone off. I only have a short drive to mom and dad's place, and he can reach me there later. I lean my head against the steering wheel. As I close my eyes I can see Chandler's hands grip the wheel as we go for a day trip to see my parents. I love the way he drives, fast, but never reckless. Accurately, and decisively. Like he always knows exactly where he is going. His driving is so unlike his personality, but still represents the man I know that he is underneath. The man who loved me. The man I love. I want to hurt myself for what I have done to him. I bang my head against the wheel, but it doesn't make me feel any better. I switch on the radio to drown the sound of my tears to the people outside the car. I don't want anyone to see me; ask me questions; care. As the DJ switches song to 'The way you look tonight' my fingers grip the wheel harder, until my knuckles go completely white. I cry so hard I am sure I will throw up on the floor of the Porsche, and for the first time in my life I don't care. I collapse onto the front passenger seat. How could I have been so stupid?

---------------------

_If there's anything to say_

_If there's anything to do_

_If there's any other way_

_I'll do anything for you_

---------------------

I put up with my mother's panic regarding my impending divorce for exactly three hours and 42 minutes before I can't take it any longer. Claiming that she took the news well is the overstatement of the year. When I told her that I was to blame, I honestly thought that she was going to have a heart attack. One would perhaps think that considering that Ross has gone through three divorces, there would be no sense in even trying to make this seem worse, but somehow, when my mom asks me, or the gods, or something higher, why her daughter couldn't have been a little more like her perfect son, I think that perhaps she is right. Her insistence on finding faults in everything I do hurt me to the core, but I know that this time she is right. I find that what hurts the most is the fact that Chandler isn't here to squeeze my hand, or rub my shoulder or put his arms around me. He was my rock and I made him crumble. I can't believe that I took him for granted. He deserves so much better.

"Monica, for God's sake, what were you thinking?" My mother asks me for the umpteenth time. I am glad I didn't tell them that I cheated on Chandler with Richard for I know that would have killed them both. "This is not what we raised you to be like, but you were always a little different. Why couldn't you have been a little more like your brother?" I look at her, amazed at how one woman can treat her own two children so differently. Would I have become like her if I had been able to have children? We share everything else; our obsession with cleanliness and order, the perfectionism and the competitiveness. Would I have expected my children to be perfect? I tune back to my mother's ramblings; she is well on her way to hysteria now. "I will have you know that we didn't raise you to be a slut! You have always been the black sheep, but this is just too much. I didn't think that even you would be capable of this!" She leans into my father's shoulder and cries uncontrollably.

"You act as if I meant to do this to Chandler!" I spit out the words. Neither of them looks at me. My mother still has her face buried in my dad's chest; his arms comfortingly wrapped around her. Dad refuses to look at me. "You really think this low of me?" I whisper, I get no reaction from either of them. I feel alone as I pull my legs closer to my shaking body, where I am sitting on the couch opposite of my parents. My dad whispers something to my mother, and hugs her tighter. I tell myself that I knew this was the reaction I was going to get, coming here. I know I deserve to know how stupid I was for doing what I did to Chandler, but I realize now that our friends would have told me that. They would have told me the truth, but they would still have comforted me when I cried. I don't need understanding, I don't need forgiveness, but I do need love and support. I need to be hugged. I need for someone to tell me that what I did was wrong, but that things will be better given time. I look at my parents, and I realize that I shouldn't have come. It hurts to realize that they loved me better when I was with Chandler. It hurt to know that I was a better person when I was with the man I love, but whom I have betrayed. It would have hurt an enormous amount if the people who thought that hadn't been my parents. Now, it's unbearable. I catch my dad looking at me. If I am completely honest, I thought that he would side with me; if not officially, then at least through looks and secret hugs. He looks away as our gazes meet. I stumble away from the couch. I grope for the pieces of my broken life, but they keep slipping through my fingers, and I'm not quick enough to grab them all. Suddenly it is all too much. The emotions I have kept buried since I found out that Chandler and I would never have children of our own, come tumbling out of me. Not just some of them, but all, at one time. I stumble over something, thin air, and I fall to the floor. I have no strength to pull myself up again, not even to lift my arms from underneath my body. I feel the polished hardwood floor against my cheek and hands, but still I keep falling and falling. I fall until the world around me goes completely black, and my heart's beating is the only sound I am aware of.

At several occasions I feel hands on my body, lifting me, shaking me, caressing my face, but my tears are all-consuming. I thank the higher powers that breathing is an instinct, because I don't have enough willpower to keep drawing in air. I wish for Chandler's arms around me, but I know that I have screwed that up. I let the emptiness consume me. I don't care. There is nothing left to care for.

-----------------------

_I was dressed in embarrassment_

_I was dressed in wine_

_If you have a part of me_

_Will you take your time?_

_Even if I come back_

_Even if I die_

_Is there some idea _

_To replace my life?_

-----------------------

Rachel's hands are holding onto my left one as I sign the paper Chandler has placed before me. He has not said a word to me since he entered the apartment ten minutes ago. He has talked plenty to both Ross and Rachel, but he hasn't as much as looked me in the eye. I know that I deserve the silent treatment, so I am not going to demand anything. I want to tell him that I am sorry. Again. I told him enough times when he came by last. I told him a little too much then, but I couldn't help it. He came by to pick up something he needed for work, and to drop off his keys. He handed me the keys as he walked inside the door and I stared at them as he went to our bedroom to search for whatever it was that he needed. I stubbornly wiped the tears from my eyes. As he returned, a good 20 minutes later with a bunch of papers in his arms I freaked out, I begged him to stay. I told him that I am so terribly sorry for hurting him and that I still love him. I told him that I am scared, and that I know I should have realized that I need him. He didn't say a word at first. He just looked at me. Then he shook his head slowly, and fought to get the papers down into his briefcase. He looked thinner. Still, he looked good. He didn't look tired and washed-out like I do. I realized that he is doing so much better without me. He looked back at me as he went to open the door. My life felt heavy again. Like a giant sitting on my shoulders. I remember distinctly drawing a breath. He held my gaze for the longest time, before telling me that he would come by with the divorce papers soon. I could have sworn that I fell to the floor right at that second, but my legs stubbornly held me up. I somehow let him know that I heard what he said. He looked at me again, before he opened the door. He told me that he felt better. That things were better. Not hurting in the same way. I looked at him as if he spoke in a language I couldn't understand. Before the blackness engulfed me again, I could hear his sobs as he went across the hall to Joey's.

"Okay, so that's it." Chandler says and takes the paper from me. They are the first words he has directed at me today. Four small words. He produces an identical document from his briefcase and hurriedly scribbles his name down on the last page. I cringe as if he had been writing on my back with a knife instead of with his ballpoint pen on the paper. I feel guilty for not handling the divorce very well, when he seemingly is. I brought this on. I cheated. I should be wrapped up in guilt, not tears. I should be hating myself, not crying myself to sleep. Chandler produces an envelope and puts the documents in it. I bite my lip not to cry. I watch his hands as they write the address of our lawyer. His lawyer. I don't notice Ross and Rachel leaving until I hear the door close behind them. Chandler is standing across the table from me. I want to stand up too, but I don't trust my legs to keep me upright.

"I wish we didn't have to end this way." I tell him, trying to meet his gaze. His head snaps up to meet my eyes. He is hurting. So much more than he lets on. My heart aches. "I am really sorry, Chandler."

"You should have thought about that before." He snaps, and I know that he is right. "God, Monica, I know we were drifting apart, but _Richard_? Did it really have to be him? I might have been able to at least let you explain if it had been anyone but Richard." I turn my head down. I know that seeing Richard was the worst idea of the century. He's caused us so much pain already.

"I didn't think, Chandler." I tell him honestly. He makes a snorting sound, and chuckles darkly, clearly agreeing with me. "I was really, really drunk. I know that doesn't make it okay, but you know I make bad decisions when I'm drunk." He looks at me in a funny way, and I try to figure out what he's thinking.

"That's it? That's what you think?" His voice is barely above a whisper. I start to panic. What did I say? What made him sad? "Y'know, you were really drunk in London too…" I stumble off the chair, shaking my head furiously. He heads for the door, clearly disappointed.

"No! No, Chandler. That's not what I meant!" I tell him through my tears. "I will never think of that night in London as a bad decision. These years with you have been the best in my life. I could never regret that." He looks at me briefly. His lips twitch into a very bleak smile and he reaches out to wipe away my tears. I shudder at the touch of his fingers, and more tears flow down my cheeks. "Don't go." I whisper, for the first time really putting all my hopes into those two words.

"I _have_ to, honey." He tells me softly. I want his arms around me, but I don't want to be rejected so I don't move. "I'm sorry about everything." His lips brush against my forehead, and I whimper. He steps away from me, and I grip the kitchen worktop for support. "Once the divorce is final, I'll be over to get my stuff, okay?" I merely nod. I meet his gaze, and through my tears I see that he too is crying. He opens the door, and I force myself to stay where I am.

"Bye, Monica." He says as he steps out into the hallway. His voice is thick with emotions and I want to comfort him. I want to be comforted.

"Take good care of yourself, Chandler." I tell him and he gives me a promising smile before he closes the door. "I love you so much." I whisper to myself as I hear his defeated steps trail down the stairs. "I am so sorry."

-------------------------

_Like a father to impress_

_Like a mother's mourning dress_

_If you ever make a mess _

_I'll do anything for you_

-----------------------------

Phoebe is sitting next to me on the couch, watching Joey, Chandler and Ross carry boxes from the guest bedroom to the truck they have waiting downstairs. Joey is still mad at me, and refuses to look at me. He huffs and puffs and mutters things as he passes the couch, carrying one of the boxes I have packed for Chandler. Ross looks torn. I know that he knows that I have been dreading this day, but still he helps Chandler out. I love him for being so good about this. For trying to make this as easy as possible for both of us. Chandler tries his best not to look at us on the couch. I play with Emma's hands. She's in my lap, giggling as I make her bounce on my legs. I wonder if things would have turned out differently if we had had a kid of our own by now. It's impossible to say. I doubt we would have stopped working on our relationship, but there could have been something else. I know that what I did, I chose to do. I can't blame it on our inability to have children. I took a decision to push everything away; who knows if something else might have made me take that very decision even if we were able to have children. Emma squirms out of my lap and rushes to help her father and her uncles. As she hovers next to Chandler, holding onto the edge of a plastic bag that he is carrying, I have to smile. He puts the bag down and hoists his niece in the air. She giggles as he catches her expertly and pulls her into a hug.

"Enjoyed that, did you, Emma?" He laughs, but then he notices me and Phoebe and he puts Emma down on the ground. As our eyes meet, both of our smiles die down. I hate myself for keeping him from being happy. Emma bounces back to her aunties on the couch and snuggles up between us. I meet Phoebe's gaze over Emma's head and I know what she's thinking. If only life was as simple as it is for Emma. Our lives are brutally changing, but Emma will hardly notice. She will still have all her aunts and uncles, her mommy and daddy and big brother Ben. We will all love her just like we used to. The only thing changing is the way we feel about each other. Phoebe and I both know that it will be a long time until we can all be in the same room again, the six of us, if ever. It will always be him or me from now on. Mostly me, I suppose, since his new apartment is out on Long Island. I also know that it will be quite a while until Joey and I will be able to spend time together. He is almost taking this worse than Chandler. This morning I heard from Phoebe that Joey might move to Long Island with Chandler. I broke up our gang. Not even Emma's cheerful and innocent laugh can make me feel any better about that fact.

"That was all." I hear Ross state, and he opens the fridge to pull out beers for him and the other two. I am going to miss this. My friends; my family. After so many years of being together being alone scares me. I have thought about getting a room-mate, but I don't want to fill up the hole Chandler left. I want it to be there to remind me of what I screwed up. Besides, I am too old for room-mates now.

"Thank God!" I hear Joey exclaim and he sinks down onto one of the kitchen chairs. Chandler and Ross make some joke about him and how he's supposed to be the fit one, and they laugh. I look at them. I still need them. Soon I'll only have Ross, and that's not good enough. Ross has been there since the day I was born; with him it will never be the same. I know that Chandler needs to go. I don't want him to, but I understand why he wants to. I would have wanted to if I were him. I can't tell Joey that I want him to stay, because I can't do that to either him or Chandler. If he wants to go with Chandler to Long Island, I don't want to stop him because I know that they will have a great time together. I remind myself once again that I put myself in this mess, and that I will have to accept that this is the way things will be from now on.

"You're really upset about this, aren't you?" Phoebe asks me quietly, letting Emma, who's now in her lap, play with her rings. "I'm still very angry with you." She tells me, and I sense a 'but' coming up. Still, it feels good to hear that they aren't just accepting what I did. "But I hate to see you suffer." I look up and meet her gaze. "You're taking this worse than Chandler, and still you're the one who… well, y'know…" I nod quietly, not sure what to tell her. I still feel bad for being the one who's worse off. It feels wrong. "I think that he saw it coming, y'know. But you were in denial. He was more prepared than you."

"I don't mean to feel worse than he does, Phoebe." I tell her, and she urges Emma off in the direction of her father and uncles. "I never meant to sleep with Richard. He… I just needed someone who would listen, and he did. He was great at that. He took me to fancy dinners to cheer me up, and he would let me talk about what ever I needed to talk about. I never meant for it to cross the line." Tears spill over onto my cheeks and I wipe at them furiously. I don't want the boys to see me cry. I don't want Chandler to know. "I feel so stupid. So cruel. This isn't who I wanted to be. I just wanted to be with Chandler. I just…" The tears flow uncontrollably now, and Phoebe hugs me closer. I get up from the couch and make my way to the bathroom. I don't want to seem weak in front of Chandler. I am not the one who should be hurting. When I return a few minutes later, only Chandler is left in the apartment. I give a sigh. I can't face him right now. I'd rather he just left me to get on with my life.

"Hey." He says softly as I look around for the others. "They're coming with me to the apartment." He explains and nods towards the front door. I smile a little. "I just wanted to talk to you." I gesture for the table, asking him if he wants to sit down. He gives a forced smile. "It won't take long."

"Oh." I mumble, feeling stupid. I walk into the kitchen and start correcting things; my washing-up gloves, the beer bottles, Emma's cup with orange juice.

"Monica?" He says, slightly impatient and I turn my attention to him. "Look, I know that this will be hard, but I really think that we should try to spend time with our friends as usual. Maybe we should just try to forget that this ever happened. You and I, I mean." I stare at him. How can I ever forget? Then I see the look in his eyes. He wants to overcome his hurt, in any way possible. Is this his only option?

"We can't do that!" I exclaim. Why is he trying to take away the very last pieces of my sanity? I need something to cling to. I need the guilt of ruining what we had. "This is hard enough as it is." He looks surprised at that.

"What? Richard isn't being much of a help?" His voice drips with hatred and sarcasm. I swallow it whole like bad-tasting medicine. It burns away my insides. The emptiness inside my chest hurts.

"You know I haven't seen him since then." I mumble quietly, having a hard time finding my voice. He laughs, darkly, and I can't recognize him. He's different. Cold. Mean. Brutal. I know I have made him that way. I only ever wanted the very best for us both. When did I stop trying?

"Sure you haven't." He says, and I can't bring myself to answer him. "Look, I don't want this to affect our friends. They are more important than this." He gestures at the air between us. I swallow hard, and I wish that he would stop. "I'm gonna go to Los Angeles to work for four months, starting in three weeks. I don't want to think about this. I want to start fresh. Get a new life." At first I'm not sure whether he says life or wife. Does it matter? I knew that this was bound to happen. I just wished it would happen gradually. I'm not ready to let him go. "I don't want to end up like Ross and Rachel." He tells me and for a second I am not sure what he means. Back together again? Always fighting? Doesn't he realize that this was too serious? We can't go back to being friends. It's all or nothing. Is that what he's asking of me? To go back to nothing? "I will be okay with being in the same room as you, but I could never… talk to you. I don't want to remember." He looks like he's close to tears. I want to comfort him. I want to call Rachel or Phoebe and have them comfort him, since I know he won't let me.

"Are you asking me to ignore the fact that we were married?" The past tense still makes me shudder. I never imagined that I would talk about what Chandler and I had in past tense. "You want me to forget the best years of my life?" I am getting upset now. My voice grows more and more high-pitched for every word. I take a deep breath. He nods solemnly.

"You have to." I shake my head furiously, and I feel the blackness return. I know that this is his defense mechanism. I know that he has to do this to be able to deal with the situation. I close my eyes to add some light to the blackness. When I open them again, I have found my punishment. He has given me the punishment he thinks fit. I am reluctant to take it only because it will be a punishment to him too.

"Fine." I tell him. I see relief in his eyes. He looks grateful. "I don't know how, but I will do it. I will figure it out." Our eyes meet, and I see my pain reflected in his. For the first time I truly wonder if this was the best solution to our problems. There could have been counseling, or we could have separated for a little while. Maybe we need something a little less permanent. He grabs his coat, and heads for the door.

"Think of it as a game." He tells me, and even though I know he meant to be nice; that he tried to make things easier for me, it only makes me nauseous. I can make a game out of a lot of things. This is not one of them. This is something I don't want to win. And I can't bring myself to lose a game.

"No." I tell him softly. "It's not a game. Sneaking around when we didn't want anyone to know about us was a game. Trying to prove to you every day how much I loved you; that was a game. Having a baby was a game before someone changed the rules. This isn't a game. " He looks at me before opening the door.

"I don't care how you do it." He says nonchalantly. "We just need to be on equal terms when I return. I just need you to know where I stand. We can't be friends. We can't go back to the way it was. It's all or nothing. We can't have anything in between. From now on it will have to be 'nothing'. I never want to discuss any of what has happened between us again. It's in the past. I can't deal with it again." He closes the door quickly behind his back and I stand rooted to the ground. I cry silently until I start laughing. The blackness is hard and edgy around me. I stay in my bed for five days without getting up, except for bathroom visits. 'Nothing' is eating me up. Slowly. Too fast. I wish with all my heart that it will take it's time. Eat me up more slowly. Leave nothing. Take my soul with it. Take my soul like he took my heart. Take my soul like I freely gave everything away. 'Nothing' is eating me up. I am alone. Again. Forever. I dream of his hands on my face. I wish for his arms around my body. 'Nothing'. There is no light in my tunnel; and I just fall further and further into the darkness. I close my eyes to it, because the ceiling of my room is not a better alternative. At least when I fall I don't have to think. When I fall 'nothing' is easier. There are no faces in the darkness. I don't hear Chandler's voice. I'm stronger when I'm falling.

I am losing control. I have made my life a mess. I have stopped fighting. I can't get out.

--------------------------

_I have you called you preacher_

_I have called you son_

_If you have a father_

_Or if you haven't one_

_I'll do anything for you_

_I'll do anything for you_

---------------------------

It's Emma's third birthday today. I have made her a cake, with strawberries and cream and custard. I arrive before the other guests, and she assaults me as soon as I have put the cake down on the apothecary table. She peeks into the bag I have brought, containing her presents. I can't help but to smile.

"Monica!" Ross emerges from the kitchen, wearing a silly apron, and I smile again. I'm back on my feet. Life is going in the right direction. I don't fall anymore. The pills that rattle in their bottle whenever I put my purse down make sure of that. I don't like taking them, I don't want to feel like an invalid, I don't want to be sick, but they make me able to smile with my friends and my niece, so I take them. Rachel has warned me that Chandler is coming today. I haven't seen him since he made me promise to forget we were married. It's been six months. Rachel tells me that he has just come back from LA. Obviously he kept putting off his return to New York. My heart hopes that he hasn't got a girlfriend, but my head keeps telling me that if he does, I should be happy for him. It doesn't hurt as bad to think about him anymore. I still love him, and it's not just me imagining things. I miss him. I miss his smile, his hair in the mornings, the way he touches me, the way his eyes smile when he says that he loves me. I know that I'm stupid for keeping my feelings, but I can't help it. It's not as if I haven't tried to forget; get over it; move on. I just can't. I love him. It's as simple as that. I have even learned to live with the fact that I screw it up. I ruined it, and that's why he can't love me any longer. I turn my attention to Emma. She is looking longingly at the bag that I have placed next to the couch, and I squat down next to her. I dig after one of the smaller gifts and hand it to her. She squeals with delight at the mere thought of getting to open one of the presents. She tears the paper off with some help from me and she looks confused at the pink fuzzy box. I laugh and open it for her. It's a necklace with a tiny little heart of gold. My nana gave it to me when I was little, and I really want Emma to have it. She looks at it, being her mother's daughter, and her eyes are wide. I fasten it around her neck and she spins around, like a princess in one of her movies.

"Wow, you look real pretty now, Emma-honey." I tell her and she gives me a hug. "Come on; let's go show daddy his little princess!" I pick her up, she's still so small, but I imagine that she will always be a baby to me. She starts telling me a story of how she wants a puppy for her birthday and I play along, however knowing that Ross will never allow a dog to live in the apartment. I find both Ross and Rachel in the kitchen, trying to prepare the Spanish finger food they have decided to serve as snacks. "How's it coming?" I ask, knowing very well that all three of us know they could have saved a lot of time if I had brought the food as well as the cake. Ross turns around and makes a face at me and Rachel just hold up her hand.

"Look daddy, look!" Emma points to the necklace, and Ross turns around again. His mouth falls open and he looks at me, a sad twinkle in his eye. He hugs me, under the pretence of hugging his daughter, but I know that he realizes the depth of my gesture with the necklace.

"It's Nana's necklace." He whispers, and hugs me tighter. "You were supposed to give it to your first daughter." I give him a crooked smile and shrug a little, handing Emma to her mother who immediately starts babbling on about the small golden necklace. "Nana gave it to Monica when we were little." Ross explains to his wife. "She was supposed to hand it down to her first daughter…" Rachel snaps her head up to look at me. I fight to keep the tears away.

"Honey…" She says and wraps me in her arms. "Honey, you shouldn't have." I wipe my tears. I have finally come to terms with the fact that I won't be able to have children. It still hurts, but I know it to be a fact now. Yet another thing my dear psychiatrist has taught me. I've embraced the truth, and even though it still makes me sad, it's not going to literally hurt me any longer.

"Nana would have wanted her to have it. _I_ want her to have it!" I tell them, and all three of us know that it's true. Rachel hugs me again, and absentmindedly wipes a tear from my cheek. We all laugh a little. It feels so good to be able to laugh again.

Half an hour later I sit on the couch with Phoebe and Mike. I don't see her often enough now that she's married and busy with her husband, but I'm so happy for her. She's practically glowing today, and I get more and more suspicious about whether she is pregnant or not. She meets my glance as I look up from her stomach and she smiles enigmatically. Phoebe knows how to keep her secrets. Emma has started unwrapping her presents, and by some mysterious reason of her own she needs to hold up every single one of them to show me. I am suddenly overwhelmed with love for my niece. She always knows how to cheer me up. I laugh with her as she gives squeals of joy at each and every present. The door bell ringing makes my smile fade. I know that it's Chandler. He's the only one that's not there. Unless my parents have decided to make a surprise visit. Highly unlikely. Emma bounces to the door as her father opens it to let in the new guest. I wonder if Emma recognizes him. She's only little and he has been gone for quite a while. Chandler's present is large, and I can see that Emma want to open it before the rest of the presents. I meet Chandler's gaze for a second, and I wonder to myself how on earth I'm ever going to keep my promise to him. I can't forget that we were married. I can't forget that we used to love each other. It's impossible.

He stays away from me for the first hour or so. I can't really say that I try to approach him either, but somehow I find him looking at me the entire time. I know this because I look at him. Emma is in my lap, eating cake from our shared plate with her fingers. Her face is messy, but at least she's enjoying herself. I wipe some cake off her face with my fingers and immediately regret it as I don't have a napkin. I wipe it off against the plate, but I'm still sticky. As I look up at Chandler again, our eyes meet. His eyes are uncharacteristically hard, and my heart aches. I wonder what he thinks as he looks at me. I wonder if he finds this as hard as I do. Not talking. Being back to nothing. Emma starts licking her fingers again, and Phoebe hands me a napkin. Finally. I look back to Chandler. He looks older. Not physically; but he looks more tired. I suppose I look the same. Suddenly he moves towards us. I have dreaded this moment since he left. I don't know what to say to him. I don't know what I'm allowed to say. He sits down next to me, and I hug Emma tighter, moving her around in my lap. Suddenly I feel Phoebe's arm against mine, and she lifts Emma from me. Oh, god! Emma was my safety blanket. I need Emma. I look up at Chandler uncomfortably. I love him so much, but I can't tell him that, or show him that. I remember what he said.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" He asks me and I have to think to process the words. Is that an invitation to talk? He really wants to talk? I look at my hands. Is this some sort of test? No, Chandler wouldn't do that. He might dislike me, but he's never been intentionally mean. Maybe there is something he needs to tell me. He might have a girlfriend that he thinks I should know about. It could be anything. I meet his gaze. He looks a bit disappointed, but I can't figure out why. I nod at him, finally, and give him a weak smile. What ever his reason, it would feel good to hear his voice.

"Just give me a minute." I say; my voice weak and shaky. I have talked this situation over a million times with my psychiatrist, but I suppose I never thought it would really happen. I feel nervous. Does he still hate me? "I need to wash off my hands." They are still sticky from Emma's cake, and I need just a second to compose myself. He looks at my hands, an odd thing to do, and when he turns his head up he has the most wonderful smile on his lips. I fight not to smile back, but it's absolutely contagious and when I let my lips smile back at him I feel calm. Secure. I know that he wants to talk about what happened. I know that he's ready to make sense out of it all. Maybe even forget. Move on. With me. I have no idea how long we sit there, smiling at each other, but after a while I notice Phoebe looking at us. I excuse myself and stand up, feeling a little stupid. I know that Phoebe has great plans for me and Chandler and I don't want to get her hopes up. Correction: I don't want to get my hopes up.

"I'll talk to Ross and get our coats." He says, still grinning widely and suddenly all I want to do is leave the apartment. I hurry to the bathroom to wash my hands. The silly grin on my face amazes me. I know that things will never be as easy as they seem to be, but that smile of his tells me that given time, a lot or a little, we will be fine again. At least so I hope. Chandler is still on the couch, talking to Phoebe when I come back. As he notices me approach he stands up, whispering something to Phoebe, who seems like she's on a sugar-high. He holds the door up for me and I exit as he grabs out coats. I stop to wait for him and I hear him break into laughter as Emma chants something ridiculously close to 'lobsters'. The grin on my own face widens as he hands me my coat and he gestures for me to take the lead. I have no idea where we're going, but as I turn around and catch his smile again, that doesn't seem to matter. I know that some time, sooner or later, he and I will be us again. Monica and Chandler. The way we are supposed to be. He holds the door open and I step outside.

"How about some coffee, Mon?" He asks me, and all I can do I smile. Lobsters indeed.

------------------------

_I'll do anything for you_

_I'll do anything for you_

_I did everything for you_


End file.
